


Rain On Me

by Entropyrose



Category: Turn: Washington's Spies - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major Andre is coming for a visit, and Hewlett wants Simcoe to attend. Simcoe sees this as an excellent opportunity to continue where they left off...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain On Me

"Rain On Me" 

*Hewlett*  
It was pouring down rain, thank God. It was the first rain Sautucket had seen in months. The village was quite unprepared for it, however. Hewlett glance upwards at the water rolling down the tavern roof. Much unlike the mossy thatching covering more primitive houses, the Tavern roof was sound and kept out most of the torrential rain. Hewlett timed the largest drops and launched himself between them and up the Tavern steps. It would be unbecoming of an officer of his stature to allow his uniform to become soaked.  
He despised the Tavern. It was a neccesity of the foulest kind---it improved morale and decayed sensibilities simultaneously. "Corporal Umstead," he commanded over his shoulder.   
"Yes sir," came the reply.   
"Wait here at the door and see to it that no fighting erupts."   
"Sir?" Umstead's voice slid into a higher tone.  
"I don't suspect that it may," Hewlett added.   
"Uhm. Yes, sir." Umstead saluted and took his place by the door.   
Hewlett drew in a breath and raised a gloved hand, though half the room had already quieted down upon his arrival. He caught a glimpse of Anna as she stopped, mid-pour, and rested the large pitcher in her hands. 'Poor girl,' he thought, briefly, before addressing the room. Seated soldiers removed thier hats. The talk had died down leaving a heavy cloud of mixed pipe-smoke and the acrid aroma of rotting ale to fill the void. "Carry on, " he said, waving his hand away and placing it at his side. He tried an smile, uneasily, to assure them that all was well. He glanced at Anna, and thier eyes met. His smile melted into a genuine grin. She finished pouring drink for her customer, then approached swiftly, returning the smile.   
"Major," she welcomed. "What brings you here today?"   
"More like 'whom'," he said, his gaze wandering to the stairs.  
Anna's smile faded. "Yes, he is still here. Second door to the left."  
Hewlett tipped his hat to her and with one last glance at his man standing guard, ascended the craggy wooden steps.  
The smoke thickened to a fog on the second floor. So much that Hewlett's eyes began to water and he let out a stifled cough. Through the door from the hallway, Hewlett could hear the bellowing sound of an angry voice brandishing threats and vulgarities of every variety. As he stepped closer, a sudden small creek of a floorboard beneath his foot made the distant room go silent. Hewlett was here on business, not on some spy mission. Still, he couldn't help but be impressed by the military savvy of the man. He could hear a pin drop into a roaring stream. It was what made him so formidable. The heavy wooden door swung open just as Hewlett could grace the entryway.   
"Major!" The familiar voice rang. "Please, do come in."   
Hewlett swept into the room, back rigid, chin held high, and nodded once at the man seated in front of him.   
The inside of the simple, shabby tavern room had been made up and could have easily been mistaken for any study in the King's palace. It was lavishly decorated and well-lit, nothing like the dank, hollowed-out room it had been just weeks before. "Hello Captain," Hewlett began.   
Simcoe raised his eyebrows. "Hello."   
Hewlett opened his mouth and drew in a breath only to find his words were lost. This angered him so! Why was it that he, a Commander of the Royal Army, could so easily lose his composure when in the presence of Captain Simcoe, a lesser officer? Get it together, Edmund!   
Simcoe put his chin in his hands and looked up at his Second-In-Command," Well, Akimbode, it seems we have rendered the great Major speechless." Akimbode remained silent but cracked the smallest grin. "Leave us, please."   
Akimbode obeyed, his eyes glued on Hewlett until he left, closing the door behind him. Hewlett cleared his throat as he felt his face flush.   
"Hello," Simcoe said again, slithering from behind his desk, striding into Hewlett's space. He stood easily a head taller than his commanding officer. His light blue eyes danced in the reflection of the rain as it pattered against the window.   
"Captain---"Hewlett started again, placing a hand on his chest. Hewlett could feel neither heat nor cold protruding from Simcoe's meticulously ironed uniform. His finger slipped unwittingly through the folds and swept across his smooth chest, which was burning hot. He removed his hand. "I--I apologize," he said, his voice nearly a whisper.   
"Why?," Simcoe cooed. "It is yours to touch."   
"I came here on business," Hewlett said, suddenly realizing he had forgotten to breathe. Simcoe's eyes neither blinked nor averted thier gaze. "I want you---"   
What a terrible place to stall, you idiot!   
Simcoe's eyes flashed.   
Hewlett cleared his throat. "I want you to join me. Or...would you join me. Uhm."   
"My dear Major, are you asking me to a ball?"   
Hewlett glared up at him. "Don't be daft!"   
"Well then?"   
"I'd like you to join me for dinner tonight." Hewlett let out a sigh of relief. Finally! It was out.  
Simcoe's eyes practically burned with glee.   
"Major Andre will be visiting. It is my hope you could provide him with pertinent information."   
"Of course, Major. It would be my great pleasure. I hope there will be time for leisurely activities as well?"  
Hewlett scoffed and turned his head away. He was trying to look as stern as possible about that endeavour. Inviting Simcoe was like opening up a basket of vipers. "Do not make me regret this."  
"How could I?" Simcoe gave Hewlett's chin a tender pinch and leaned in, pressing his bottom lip to Hewlett's ear. "My dear Major."   
Hewlett's eyes fluttered closed. "John---" he stammered as his neck was devored by the blue-eyed demon. Hewlett could feel himself melting into him, the heavy fabric of thier uniforms meshing together, both scratchy and soft, tickling his chest. "Not here. Please."   
"Mmmm, beg me again." Simcoe tasted the drops of rain that had fallen on Hewlett's collarbone, and drew him impossibly closer. When Hewlett didn't resist, Simcoe kissed lower, to Hewlett's shirt, his mouth masterfully capturing the top button, his tongue popping underneath to separate the button from its embroidered slit.   
"John!" Hewlett's left palm jabbed against Simcoe's arm. The resultant was a gutteral moan from his lover. "John!" His demand was louder, this time. He held Simcoe away, as the two men stared at each other and panted. The warmth gone, Hewlett shivered slightly. His trousers had grown uncomfortably tight. Simcoe looked, Hewlett though, genuinely hurt. "I...I need to go."   
Hewlett turned to the door and was slightly surprised when Simcoe did not stop him from opening it. He paused. He left while attempting to swallow the lump in his throat that had suddenly appeared, one flap of his cloak brushing against Akimbode, who stood guard outside the door. He ignored Akimbode's skeptical scowl and marched down the stairs, perhaps a little faster than was neccesery.   
"Sir?" Umstead asked when Hewlett met him at the Tavern door.   
"We can go now," Hewlett snapped, throwing open the door.   
"Sir, are you alright?"   
"Of course," he brushed off the comment as they exited, Hewlett's gaze fixed on the hill where his meeting house stood.   
"Sir!" Umstead jogged ahead of him, haulting his stride.  
"What is it?"  
"You're--" Umstead pointed to the snapped button of Hewlett's shirt. A small red mark shone beneath the fabric.   
"Oh for God sake, man!" Hewlett pushed him aside quickly, praying Umstead didn't notice the heat rushing to his face, despite the pouring rain. He shrank into his cloak and grasped the hilt of his sword to keep it from rattling uncontrollably as he trotted to the meeting house.   
_________________________________  
*Simcoe*   
His most favorite sound was silence. Silence of a field after battle, with the smell of blood and shit and cannon fire. Silence could speak so much more than any sound. It was in silence that the world stopped. The silence of the break between notes in a victory song or funeral durge. The silence of being completely, utterly, speechless. Yes, silence said so very much.  
Simcoe reveled in silence. He had achieved the greatest appreciation for it. Silence was the unsung hero. It was sound's master. Yes. Silence is Sound's master. Simcoe liked the sound of that very much.   
Among the loud laughter of soldiers, the clinking of glasses, the scuffling of booted feet, Simcoe floated in. He drew in a long, deep breath, tossed his coat to a servant and strutted into the dining room. Simcoe put on his infamous grin, and as he slipped into the dining hall. Just as planned, the room dulled down to a hush. There were looks of disgust, of surprise, of...dare he say it? Horror. "Please," Simcoe said. "There is no need to end the festivities on my account." He rasied a hand ever-so-elegantly and pulled out the last empty chair. Major Andre leaned in and whispered something to Hewlett, and Hewlett nodded. Simcoe saluted, sliding his heels together, and into his slid into his place at the table.  
"Now that we are all here," Hewlett's voice split the tense atmosphere,"We can get down to business."   
"Pardon me, Major---" a soldier spoke up. "But why is he here?" The soldier guestured to Simcoe, who raised an eyebrow.   
Hewlett's reply was swift. "Captain Simcoe is the commanding officer of the Queen's Rangers and reports directly to Major Andre. If you dissapprove, I suggest you leave."   
The soldier's head suddenly appeared a few inches shorter as he shook his head.   
"Congratulations are to be extended to you, Captain." Andre cut in. "And to your men. Our entire legion owes you the Battle of Crooked Billet."  
Simcoe did a slow nod. "All to Glory of the British Rule."   
"Of course."  
Simcoe examined his plate, turning a piece of salmon with his fork, taking a long drink of blood-red wine. "I could not have been more pleased with the performance of my men."   
"Is that so?"   
Simcoe nodded, taking a bite. "Of course. Though that is nothing compared to the performance of our own Major Hewlett."   
Hewlett froze, a glass to his mouth.   
"Truly?," Andre prodded.  
"Things at home heated up shortly after our return from Crooked Billet. And the Good Major handled...everything...with such skill and precision."   
"Oh, I assure you, Major Andre, it was nothing," Hewlett's eyes shot warning fire across the table.   
"The Major is too modest!" Simcoe sang. "I dare say that I have never recieved such a homecoming as when Major Hewlett dropped everything to welcome me back with open arms. Me, and my men, of course."   
"Oh, what choice did I have?You were so very persistent..." Hewlett stabbed at his steak. "...in the dispatching of our enemies."   
"Indeed." Simcoe let the red liquid into his mouth, swirling it around, feeling the bubbles dance around his tongue. "My hands are very skilled."   
Hewlett let a small growl escape. Simcoe watched Hewlett's chest rise and fall at a quickened pace.   
Andre glanced at his uncomfortable comrade. "Major Hewlett, is everything alright?"   
Hewlett forced a tight-lipped smile. "Of course. Simcoe, a word please." The Major threw down his napkin. "I am terribly sorry, Gentlemen, excuse us. Please continue on."  
Simcoe's eyebrows raised, he shot up from his seat and followed the fuming Major.   
Major Hewlett closed the door to the dining hall. "Everybody, take the evening off!"   
The servants looked stunned. "But sir!"   
"You heard me. You all deserve it. You should all just. Just take the evening off. Dishes can wait till morning." He turned on his heel and marched down to the hall to his study, with Simcoe wagging his tail behind him.   
"How could you?" He spat as he closed the heavy door. "I invited you to this dinner on the off chance---nay, the HOPE---that you would be able to behave as a civilized man!"   
Simcoe's eyes flickered in the light of the burning fireplace. "And what might your dinner guests say if they could witness the two of us, quarrelling like sore lovers?" Hewlett's breath caught in his throat. He stared into his blazing blue eyes, all thier madness and anger having vanished. Simcoe's hand slipped from his side, outward to Hewlett's. "How many times must I reach for you before you reach back?"   
Hewlett swallowed. His hand was shaking. His fingers just centimeters away from Simcoe's, he flattened them to touch just the tip of Simcoe's forefinger.  
Simcoe glanced down at the milky white hand touching his. All he had ever wanted...  
His lips slid into a grin and his eyes once again met Hewlett's. "My perfect, pale whore."   
Hewlett blinked. "How dare---!?" He was unable to finish before Simcoe brought his mouth down to meet his, biting at his bottom lip, thrusting him against the back of the study door and pressing his hands against the sides of Hewlett's face to steady him.   
Simcoe twisted Hewlett's hand into a fist over Simcoe's growing bulge. He broke off the kiss, allowing Hewlett to suck in a breath of air, before attacking his mouth again. His lover writhed against the door, pushing into him because there was no other direction in which to push. Hewlett's mouth found Simcoe's ear and bit down. Simcoe hissed as he felt the warm wetness of blood and saliva melting down his throat. He backhanded Hewlett, leaving a red streak across his face. Hewlett's eyes matched Simcoe's for fire, and he mashed thier lips together and spun Simcoe off-balance. They both tumbled into the overstuffed reading chair, a tangle of legs and leather and cloth.   
Simcoe grasped the folds of Hewlett's vest with two fists and pried. "No!" Hewlett whispered harshly, his hands on Simcoe's wrists.   
Simcoe's grasp loosened and changed direction. His thumb popped each button easily through thier prospective hole, revealing the milky-ivory skin beneath. Simcoe saw the many whisps of scars long healed and honed in on them, his mouth capturing each perfect ripple beween his teeth. Hewlett's moan was his reward. To have tamed such a fair mare... Simcoe could hardly believe his luck. He felt his scalp tingle as Hewlett's fingers buried themselves in his thick chestnut hair. The firelight danced off Hewlett's form, emphasizing the large bulge in his trousers, and the wetness that was already darkening the fabric there.   
Hewlett's breaths became short, shallow breaths as Simcoe's skillful fingers traced little figure-eight's down to the crevace where his prize lay.   
"Major Hewlett? Are you alright?"   
Hewlett bolted upright in the armchair, straightening the white wig atop his head. "Yes--just fine!", he said, a little too hurriedly. He heard the door handle being turned as he shoved at Simcoe, who refused to budge.   
"Major Andre is concerned..." Simcoe's foot slid into the open space between the door and the floor, effectively stopping the soldier's advance.   
"What the...Sir?"   
"Uhm, don't come in!" Hewlett grimaced. "Please tell the Major I shall be along shortly. Thank you."   
The door uneasily slid shut. Hewlett sank down into the chair, panting. Simcoe rested his ear to Hewlett's chest, reveling in the erratic "Bah-dUM, bAh-duM" of his heart. He was surprised when Hewlett's hand reached up to stroke his face. He turned his head and kissed into Hewlett's palm. "You are going to be the death of me." Hewlett whispered.  
"I ceratinly hope so," murmured Simcoe.   
Hewlett pulled together the two sides of his shirt but Simcoe grabbed his wrist, wrenching it back against the plush arm of the chair. "Have you not heard what I said?" Hewlett snapped.   
Simcoe smiled up at him. "Patience, my Major." Hewlett writhed underneath Simcoe's rising form as thier chests brushed together. Hewlett gasped, and Simcoe captured his open mouth, kissing him fiercely. He tugged at the loose bit of brown hair that had escaped from his wig and masterfully loosened Hewlett's belt and trousers, reveling in the moan it produced. "Oh, so ready for me..." His hand slipped inside, fondling the wetness he found there, digging through the fabric to grasp his rigid shaft.   
Hewlett's head rolled back and a small sigh escaped. His legs parted slightly and he sucked in Simcoe's bottom lip. He didn't struggle as Simcoe pulled him to the carpeted floor of the Study, instead began pulling at Simcoe's jacket, throwing it to the floor beside them. Simcoe's back muscles quivered under the skin.   
"Have you prepared yourself as I instucted you last?", he asked, biting at Hewlett's jawline.  
Hewlett's face went red. His brow furled as he looked away.   
"Excellant." Simcoe pushed two fingers into Hewlett's mouth, capturing his tongue. Hewlett twisted his head away, but Simcoe examined the wetness of his fingers. "Good boy." Hewlett's eyes flashed and his mouth opened in protest, but Simcoe wasted no time in driving two fingers deep up inside Hewlett and spreading his perfectly round buttocks with the rest. Hewlett heaved forward as Simcoe's eyes drank in every movement and sound his lover made. "How splendid you look underneath me," he breathed.   
Hewlett's shivering hands worked to quickly pull down Simcoe's trousers, exposing his lover's bulbous tip and grasping at the shaft. Simcoe swallowed a moan and climbed atop his lover. Grasping Hewlett's hips and perching them up to meet his own, he gave his lover a quick, fierce kiss before plunging his dick inside his tight, warm opening. Hewlett bit his lip, a small tear escaping from his closed eyes.   
"Look," Simcoe commanded. "Look at me."   
Hewlett's face remained turned to the side, deep in the shadow of the smouldering flame. Simcoe mercilessly clamped one hand around Hewlett's throbbing manhood and the other on his shoulder, thrusting upward with brutal force.   
"Of course you won't," He taunted. "Such a good christan boy."   
"Do not....do not tease me, John," Hewlett managed.   
"It's no less than you deserve," Simcoe ground out, his nails digging in to the exposed skin of his arm. "For your relentless tourture."   
Another quick, blunt thrust, wrenching Hewlett's head back against the floor.   
"You love...to hear yourself....talk," Hewlett whispered harshly.   
Simcoe grabbed Hewlett's right leg, swinging him onto his side, leaning in, buring himself into Hewlett to the hilt.  
Hewlett let out a pained gasp as his inner muscles spasmed, struggling to expand the width of Simcoe's cock.  
"What are they saying, do you suppose?" Simcoe offered between thrusts. "'Where has our Great Leader gone?' Hmm?, 'What could they possibly...be discussing?'"  
Hewlett writhed, the pain and pleasure mixing, Simcoe's rythm building, one hip being pounded into the floor. "...ass!," he hissed.  
Simcoe groaned as his shaft became wider still, taking up every last corner of his lover's ass, his nails tracking little red stripes up and down Hewlett's thigh. "You have been bad, Edmund. To allow yourself to be taken...like a common wench. Just rooms away from your comrades, no less."   
Hewlett went rigid, arching his back and buring his head in his chest as he reached down to touch himself.   
Simcoe slapped the hand away. "Naughty!", he sang, taking the place of Hewlett's hand, gripping him tightly and tugging relentlessly.   
In mere moments, Simcoe heard Hewlett's muffled cry, and held him as he seized from the pleasure overpowering him. The warm wetness of his seed spilled through Simcoe's fingers, as Simcoe himself burst inside of his lover, his nectar spilling out of Hewlett's entrance and onto the carpeted floor.   
Hewlett rolled onto his back, and Simcoe collapsed on top of him, panting. Hewlett played with the little ringlets at the nape of Simcoe's neck. "I hate you," he whispered.   
Simcoe smiled. "I hate you, too."   
_________________________________   
*Andre*  
He stared at the Major quizzically from the bottom of his lifted glass, where he could look without looking...suspicious.   
Hewlett had come in, Simcoe following close behind, looking much like a whipped dog Andre thought. He had watched as Hewlett gingerly sat down at his seat, carefully staring down into his plate, which surely must have been cold by that time.   
"Is everything alright, Major?"   
"Hmm?" Hewlett snapped his head up to catch Andre's gaze. "Oh, yes. Quite."   
Andre's expression was frozen.   
Hewlett drew in a sharp breath. "At times, one must squelch insuboordination as quickly as it is detected."   
"Indeed." Andre took a final sip and set his glass down. A servant lowered a large pitcher, but Andre waved it away. "I am finished. Thank you."  
"But you two must have so much to talk about," came the voice at the end of the table.   
Andre watched the same forceful expression cross his Counterpart's face. A glare that could freeze fire.   
"Haven't you had quite enough, Captain?" Hewlett lashed.  
"Of course," said Simcoe, with a slow nod. "For now."


End file.
